Month: September 2016

Director Nero stood in his office, fuming at the aftermath of the sneak attack. The man in front of him stood as still as possible without making any sound in hopes that Nero’s wrath would not be directed upon him. It was a pointless hope.

Here’s a rough map of what the world would have looked like during World War V if anyone was curious. There Are three major powers shown here. There’s The Confederate of North America in blue, The United Soviet-Communist Union in tan/gold, and the Coalition of New Poland, in green. The Darker green represents the actual country of New Poland.

The Cakemen had been waiting outside the complex for four days. They were waiting for the right timing, but the longer they waited, the more Lex’s men were growing anxious. It was a delicate operation. The compound has a complex system of heavily armed guards. There was no apparent gap in their rotation. A watch tower lorded over the area.

Those four days were grueling. The weather was terrible. Snow fell for hours on end, but they couldn’t move about freely to keep warm else they be spotted by the watch tower. In the end, they kept to their small snow dugouts, trying their best not to freeze to death.

Lex sat on watch, keeping track of the movements of the guards through the telescope and infrared feature of his military grade meta-link. He was glad that he had invested in heat cloaking material for his men’s equipment to prevent the guards from doing the same. It was expensive and hard to get a hold of, but after all the stealth missions they had undertaken, it proved well worth it.

Andan admired his handiwork. Julia was still alive, barely. Her limbs were twisted and mangled and several fingers had been ripped off. Thin scratches from his knife covered her body. Her neck had a large gash from which her life blood slowly drained and puddled around her body. It was beautiful. Her breath came in slow, ragged gasps, and she struggled to say something. It made her seem even more lovely. He leaned over and placed a finger on her lips.

“Hush, it will be alright,” he said. “I’m here. You don’t have to worry about a thing.” A bit of life returned to her eyes, and she shied away from him. The action caused her to make a pained noise as blood rushed out quicker. Andan smirked.

Then, he heard a sound from above him. He turned and looked up. Something fell. As it passed by, it clipped his forehead, and his knife slipped out of his hands. The skin split open, and blood rushed down, flooding his dominate eye. He growled at the stinging pain and attempted wipe the blood away to no avail. Andan searched for what had hit him. He found Seven staring back at him in horror.

Director Nero was frustrated. The mass production of Number 7’s serum was taking longer than was planned. Unexpected difficulties continued to crop up one after another. The People’s Army wouldn’t be pleased with the set backs. They were getting more and more annoyed with Pandora as time passed. Even though Pandora’s recent breakthroughs had been significant, especially within the last four years, it wasn’t enough to pacify their growing displeasure.

He looked through the manufacturing statistics. If things went well, it would be three days until the first batch of one hundred was done. The USCU wanted at least a hundred more such batches. It would be difficult, but once they got the first batch out, they would have gotten all the kinks out of the manufacturing line, and the process would then be completely automated.

On the bright side, Number 8, the man they had injected Number 7’s serum into three months ago, continued to be preforming well. His regenerative abilities and his resistance to radiation were both extremely high, proof that the serum worked better than he had hoped.

Julia Parkins was the general secretary of Pandora. She kept all the files in order and was the coordinator for everything that happened within the complex. Her schedules had schedules.

Normally, she considered herself a practical woman not easily swayed by emotions. That is until the arrival of Andan Bach. He was a very handsome man, late twenties, just around her own age. He had a low, smooth voice and chocolate brown eyes that seemed to swallow you whole. She had a thing for eyes. It was always the first thing she noticed.

He was different than any man that she had ever met. He had a dangerous air about him that made him hard to resist. She had fallen for him the first moment she saw him.

Everyday some kind of test was preformed on him. He had strange, glowing solutions and noxious poisons injected into him, ones that attacked his lungs so he couldn’t breath and burned his veins. His bones were broken to see how fast they would mend, and electricity became his constant partner. Andan seemed to enjoy that test the most.

If he was not in that white room strapped into a chair, he was either unconscious in his room or forced into a room alone with Andan for “training.” Only, for Andan, it was more of a venting spree. Seven couldn’t tell if which was worse, the testing or the training, and if he learned anything at all from those lessons, it would be how to dodge.

I was born without hands. My arms stop just above where my elbows would be if I had them. Despite this, my mother loved me. I don’t remember much of her face, but I can still remember her warmth as she hugged me. Sometimes, I think her scent still lingers in this shack I am hesitant to call home.

I cannot say the same for my father, however. I am cautious of him. As a large man, his hits crash down on me like mountains, and he is prone to drunken rages. I am careful when I move. He lies there on the ground surrounded by empty liquor bottles. If I wake him, I’ll earn a fist. If I talk back, I’ll earn a fist. If he sees me, I’ll earn a fist. For a man who can only stumble around in a spirit induced stupor, he has a surprising amount of accuracy. Not that I try and dodge. That will earn me a fist, too, but I used to, when I was younger and didn’t know better.